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Authors: Melanie Rawn
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sparkled gleefully. “Have you ever noticed how many women there are at Castle Crag, and how many of them are pregnant at any given time?”
“It must be in the air,” Pandsala replied, making a face. “Women breed, and they breed daughters.”
“Not all of them.”
Pandsala frowned, then stared. Ianthe laughed.
“If Palila has a son—which isn’t likely, but all things are possible—I have my eye on several girls right now who are just as far along as she is.”
“Why not do to her what she did to poor Surya?”
“I’ve considered it,” Ianthe admitted. “But her personal servants are absolutely loyal—Goddess alone knows why! She sleeps either with Father or with guards outside her door and two women on the floor of her chamber. She doesn’t go out riding, she doesn’t leave the grounds, she doesn’t bathe with the rest of us and she never eats anything her own servants haven’t prepared. If you can find opportunity in those things, be my guest!”
“I always did think her ‘delicate stomach’ was a flimsy excuse.”
“She doesn’t trust us any more than we trust her. Oh, she makes sweet eyes at us and pretends we’re all the closest of friends. I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling—certainly not Father!”
“He doesn’t give a damn about any of us, except when we can amuse him. Ianthe, I’m so tired of amusing him! Tell me what you have planned.”
“If we’re to be rid of her, we’ll have to be even more devious than she. You know she’s planning to sell us to the highest bidder.”
“I could do with a husband. It would get me out of this nursery!” She gestured to the lawns where their half-sisters played in the sunshine.
Ianthe paced along the garden wall until she found a perfect violet rose. She plucked it and ran the soft petals across her cheeks and lips. “There’s nothing wrong with a husband of one’s own choosing. But remember who’s sent emissaries recently? Prince Vissarion—now, there’s a fine specimen, if you like lechers. And then there was that lisping idiot sent by Prince Ajit. How would you like to join the list of wives he’s buried? Four now, isn’t it?”
“Five—no worse than Father,” Pandsala retorted, but there was fear in her dark eyes now. “Very well. So the idea is that if Palila manages a son, we’ll find some way to switch the child for a girl.”
“If Father gets an heir, we’ll count for less than nothing.”
“I know.” Pandsala scuffed the toe of her slipper against a clod of newly turned earth. “But Ianthe—this is our brother we’re talking about.”
“And if he grows up a servant’s son instead of a prince, what of it? It’s our future we’re concerned with, Sala! Father’s wealth split seventeen ways is bad enough—but if there’s a son, instead of a seventeenth part we’d be lucky to get a hundredth. You and I and Naydra and that imbecile Lenala will get larger shares, of course, being princesses. But five hundredths is still nothing multiplied five times.” She crushed the rose in her palm. “If there’s no son, Father will have to choose the next High Prince from among our sons.”
Pandsala’s eyes narrowed for an instant, but then she hastily smoothed her expression. “Some other woman than Palila might give him a boy. You know, Ianthe, we’d do better to have him gelded.”
The younger girl burst out laughing. “And you call me foul-minded!”
Pandsala laughed with her. “I’d call us both practical, wouldn’t you?”
But as they walked on, conversing in perfect accord, neither spoke of the sons they hoped they would have—or the husband each hoped would father them.
The High Prince—who was not as unaware of his daughters as they believed him to be—sat behind the desk of his private study high above the gardens. Roelstra’s forty-five winters showed in a thread or two of white in his dark hair, a line or two around his pale green eyes, a notch or two let out in his belt.
“It must be in the air,” Pandsala replied, making a face. “Women breed, and they breed daughters.”
“Not all of them.”
Pandsala frowned, then stared. Ianthe laughed.
“If Palila has a son—which isn’t likely, but all things are possible—I have my eye on several girls right now who are just as far along as she is.”
“Why not do to her what she did to poor Surya?”
“I’ve considered it,” Ianthe admitted. “But her personal servants are absolutely loyal—Goddess alone knows why! She sleeps either with Father or with guards outside her door and two women on the floor of her chamber. She doesn’t go out riding, she doesn’t leave the grounds, she doesn’t bathe with the rest of us and she never eats anything her own servants haven’t prepared. If you can find opportunity in those things, be my guest!”
“I always did think her ‘delicate stomach’ was a flimsy excuse.”
“She doesn’t trust us any more than we trust her. Oh, she makes sweet eyes at us and pretends we’re all the closest of friends. I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling—certainly not Father!”
“He doesn’t give a damn about any of us, except when we can amuse him. Ianthe, I’m so tired of amusing him! Tell me what you have planned.”
“If we’re to be rid of her, we’ll have to be even more devious than she. You know she’s planning to sell us to the highest bidder.”
“I could do with a husband. It would get me out of this nursery!” She gestured to the lawns where their half-sisters played in the sunshine.
Ianthe paced along the garden wall until she found a perfect violet rose. She plucked it and ran the soft petals across her cheeks and lips. “There’s nothing wrong with a husband of one’s own choosing. But remember who’s sent emissaries recently? Prince Vissarion—now, there’s a fine specimen, if you like lechers. And then there was that lisping idiot sent by Prince Ajit. How would you like to join the list of wives he’s buried? Four now, isn’t it?”
“Five—no worse than Father,” Pandsala retorted, but there was fear in her dark eyes now. “Very well. So the idea is that if Palila manages a son, we’ll find some way to switch the child for a girl.”
“If Father gets an heir, we’ll count for less than nothing.”
“I know.” Pandsala scuffed the toe of her slipper against a clod of newly turned earth. “But Ianthe—this is our brother we’re talking about.”
“And if he grows up a servant’s son instead of a prince, what of it? It’s our future we’re concerned with, Sala! Father’s wealth split seventeen ways is bad enough—but if there’s a son, instead of a seventeenth part we’d be lucky to get a hundredth. You and I and Naydra and that imbecile Lenala will get larger shares, of course, being princesses. But five hundredths is still nothing multiplied five times.” She crushed the rose in her palm. “If there’s no son, Father will have to choose the next High Prince from among our sons.”
Pandsala’s eyes narrowed for an instant, but then she hastily smoothed her expression. “Some other woman than Palila might give him a boy. You know, Ianthe, we’d do better to have him gelded.”
The younger girl burst out laughing. “And you call me foul-minded!”
Pandsala laughed with her. “I’d call us both practical, wouldn’t you?”
But as they walked on, conversing in perfect accord, neither spoke of the sons they hoped they would have—or the husband each hoped would father them.
The High Prince—who was not as unaware of his daughters as they believed him to be—sat behind the desk of his private study high above the gardens. Roelstra’s forty-five winters showed in a thread or two of white in his dark hair, a line or two around his pale green eyes, a notch or two let out in his belt.
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